Fifty Shades of Surreality
by anoname
Summary: What if the characters of Fifty Shades of Grey said and thought the things that popped into my head based on their unrealistic behaviors? Eventually, their actions may begin to reflect the absurdity, too. I mean none of us live like this in real life, right? I know I don't. It's a little less grey area and a little more my nutty version of their reality.
1. Chapter 1

Fifty Shades of Reality

(Yes, I've actually read Fifty Shades of Grey. I'm just trying to have a bit of fun with it, allowing Anastasia's thoughts to amuse me. Please read it in the spirit in which it was meant, and don't be offended.)

Chapter 1

Looking into the mirror, I frown as I silently chastise myself yet again for not investing any time in finding a product to help me tame my hair. I mean, honestly, once upon a time, gals with unruly hair were crap out of luck, but in more modern times, there are so many choices out there for keeping different types of hair under control. Of course if it weren't for my bestie and roommate Katherine Kavanaugh getting sick and asking me to stand in for her by doing an interview with a guy that is apparently such a jerk that he won't reschedule even for someone with the flu, I could sit around in our apartment studying for finals in my t-shirt and hoodie with my wild hair roaming free, still thinking I'm not attractive. So as I indulge my compulsion to brush my hair into submission, I repeat the mantra, _I must stop brushing, because it only exacerbates frizz and static. I must stop brushing, because it only exacerbates frizz and static._ I roll my eyes at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face (stupid birth defect) staring back at me and wonder why I'm narrating to myself again. I hope it doesn't indicate any type of psychological issue. Oh well. All I can do right now is put my hair into a ponytail and hope that I look semi-okay.

It's crazy that I've never even heard of this billionaire mega-magnate that Kate wants me to interview for the student newspaper for which she is editor. Apparently everyone else knows who he is and that he's considered one of the sexiest and wealthiest men alive, but I can barely think about that with all of the thoughts of tests and essays clouding my mind. Man it sucks to be driving to Seattle to talk to Mr. Hottie McMogul instead of working a shift at the hardware store where I've been employed during my past four years at college. Still, this guy is a benefactor to our university, so I guess I owe it to my alma mater to do my best with the interview.

Kate is hunkered down under a blanket on the couch looking ridiculously amazing even though she's sick. Of course, she was raised by a mom who imparted the secrets of hair products, make up, and beauty maintenance, unlike mine. Plus it doesn't hurt that the heroin-chic look is all the rage this year. "Ana, I'm sorry. If you don't keep my appointment, I'll probably never get another one."

As I hear her raspy, laryngeal voice, I feel bad for fantasizing about punching her in the gut earlier when she guilt-tripped me into this. "No problem, Kate. Why don't you go to bed? There's some NyQuil in the medicine cabinet. You know it's the magic potion for knocking yourself out when you feel awful."

"Okay, that sounds great. Here's my digital recorder. Just press this button during the interview, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Won't he expect me to use something a bit more up-to-date, like an iPad or iPod or my cell phone or something? Plus I know nothing about him. I'm going to look like the village idiot being so clueless when everyone else but me seems to know who he is."

"If I weren't so sick, I'd seriously scold you for being so out of the loop, but as it is, all I can think about is sucking down some NuQuil and sleeping this flu away. Plus keeping you in the dark insures that I'm still the smarter of the two of us. Just ask the questions, record the answers, and leave the rest to me. Now please go. He doesn't like people to be late for appointments."

"Okay, fine. I left you some soup for later." I wink at her to let her know that I wouldn't be doing this for anyone else but my bestie.

"Is it your homemade chicken noodle?" she asks hopefully.

"I was going to make that, but I don't have time now that you're sending me to Seattle. Campbell's will have to do. Sorry." I grab my backpack and head out, thinking about how ridiculous it probably is to be taking a cheap, torn up nylon backpack to this kind of occasion and how lucky I am to have a friend like Kate. She's eloquent, tough, challenging, gorgeous-and, well, I guess every good-looking chick needs the frumpy sidekick! I can't believe I've let her talk me into doing this interview, but then Kate could sell an igloo to an Eskimo. Not to mention that I never really stand up for myself. I'll probably end up attracting the wrong kind of guy. But it's not all bad. Kate's letting me take her Mercedes sports car so that she doesn't have to worry that my old Volkswagon Bug will break down on the way, keeping me from getting to the interview on time. Not that I don't love my car, but it doesn't drive as smoothly as the Mercedes, and Kate will never need to know that I'm speeding in her car. Even if I get a ticket from one of those Highway Patrol planes, it'll just go to her dad anyway, since he bought her the car, and it's in his name. I'm sure he'll just pay it thinking it's Kates'. If I can't have my own rich parents, at least I can benefit from hers. I crank the stereo and enjoy the ride.

For the first 45 minutes that is. Kate doesn't have satellite radio, I forgot to bring CD's or an iPod for the car stereo, and the radio stations turn to static between Vancouver and Seattle. After 2 ½ boring hours alone on the road, I finally pull up at Grey House, Mr. Christian Grey's office building, relieved to be almost halfway through this ordeal. I head into the 20-story glass and steel structure, already overwhelmed, as I'm so backward as to have rarely been inside such a tall building.

A striking, immaculate, fair-haired woman greets me from behind the front desk. She looks professional in a dark-grey suit and white blouse. Maybe I should have thought a bit more about what I was wearing to an interview at an upscale corporate establishment. Well, I'll just have to make the best of it. "I'm here to see Mr. Grey. My name is Anastasia Steele, and I'll be doing the scheduled interview in place of Katherine Kavanagh. She can't be here, because she has a nasty case of the flu. It's coming out both ends if you know what I mean."

She clears her throat and looks pointedly at my attire: the only skirt I own, a blue cardigan, and my brown-leather boots. "Excuse me, Miss Steele. I was expecting Miss Kavanagh, so now I need a moment as I adapt to the change."

"Maybe I should freshen up a bit?" I ask, uncertain if this is what she's hinting at or not.

She nods as she says, "Please sign in here. You'll want the last elevator to the right. Twentieth floor. Press the button with a 20 on it. Don't press any other buttons. I'd give you a visitor's pass, but I think it's pretty obvious." She smiles at me as if amused, apparently seeing me as some kind of bumbling fool.

I sigh and walk past the two security officers who are also dressed more professionally than I am. As I wait for the elevator, I look at my reflection in the mirrored lobby and try to think whether or not I should do something to look a little sharper before I meet Mr. Grey. Then I realize that I'm a hipster. I don't need to wear a suit like all of the mainstream mannequins around here. I do what I want.

The elevator is crazy-fast, giving me an icky feeling in my stomach as it rushes to the twentieth floor. The doors open into another modern-industrial lobby with yet another desk and blonde woman greeting me, this one dressed in a black suit and white blouse. What's up with the lack of color? You'd think this was a funeral home.

"Please wait here, Miss Steele." She gestures to a set of white leather chairs.

Behind this is a large glass-enclosed conference room with a huge dark-wood conference table and twenty matching chairs. I'm not really sure why I've counted the chairs, but there it is. Beyond the table is a view of the Seattle cityscape with the Sound in the background. I could get some major studying for my exams done at that table. Whoa, nerd alert!

I sit down and pull out the list of questions Kate gave me for the interview. I wish she had filled me in on this guy's backstory beforehand. I mean, he could be really old for all I knew! The possibility that I'm about to interview an old guy makes me nervous and fidgety. I've never been comfortable around elderly men, preferring to keep them in a group if at all. Honestly, I'm probably just socially awkward, because I would rather be by myself in the university library reading one of the classics right now than waiting in this sterile environment to interview someone who, from the looks of this place, must be at least in his forties. I roll my eyes as I realize my thoughts sound like narration again. And that I'm rolling my eyes again. It's been happening a lot lately. I'd better make an appointment at the optometrist to get it checked out. _Get a grip, Steele._

Yet another beautiful, well-groomed blonde comes out of the office door to the right. What, is he cloning them? Maybe I've stumbled into a 1950's cheesy sci-fi flick. I stand and take a breath of fresh air in case he is an old guy. They tend to smell funny.

"Miss Steele?" the blonde asks redundantly.

"Yes," I croak. Man, I hope I'm not coming down with whatever Kate has. I clear my throat. "Yes." That sounded better.

"Mr. Grey will see you in a moment." Again with the redundancy. "May I take your jacket?"

She must be referring to my retro down-filled vest. "Ummm, sure." I struggle out of it and hand it to her.

She tosses it onto the chair beside me. Okaayyy. "Has anyone offered you refreshment?"

"No…" Is Blondie #1 in trouble? I wonder this as Blondie #2 shoots her a mean look. Or maybe they're just communicating telepathically.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure, I'll take a glass of water, thanks," I mutter. I'm not really thirsty, but I am curious as to whether it will turn me into a cool blonde with a dark suit and the body of a model.

"Olivia, get off your skinny tush and bring Miss Steele some water," orders Blondie #2 in a severe voice. Olivia hops up and does as she's told. "I'm so sorry, Miss Steele. Olivia is a new intern. We haven't trained the idiot out of her yet. Please have a seat. Mr. Grey will be ready for you shortly." Will the redundancy ever end? Plus I'm already sitting down. Perhaps the Blondeford secretaries are only programmed with a limited number of possible phrases.

Olivia returns with a glass of ice water. "Here you are, Miss Steele."

"What? I wanted sparkling, not tap!" I tease. Olivia looks shocked. "I'm just kidding!" I reassure her as I take the glass from her. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

The two blondes return to their work, occasionally looking up to check on me in perfect synchronicity. Creepy. I'm just pondering the legality of employing people according to their physical attributes when the office door opens and a tall black man emerges. His short dreadlocks are in opposition to the elegance of his attire. As I wonder if I should get dreadlocks to solve my hair-taming issues, he says something about golf and starts laughing hysterically. I guess I must have missed too much of the joke to get the punchline.

Olivia jumps up to get the elevator for him with android-like movements.

"Mr. Grey is ready for the interview now, Miss Steele. You can go on in," says Blondie #2.

How does she know that without communicating with him? Definitely telepathy. I stand up, feeling more nervous than ever. It's the moment of truth. I grab my tacky backpack and head to the office door.

"Just go on in without knocking," says the Queen of Redundancy.

I push the door wider and trip over my own two feet, falling into the office. Great, could it get any more embarrassing? Next time I'm not buying shoes two sizes too big just to get the sale price. Mr. Grey must've been waiting behind the door, because he reaches out and helps me up. Being touched by his oddly long fingers, long enough for me to notice how long they are, makes me think of being wrapped in rope. That's weird. I'm sure he's wondering how anyone could be so clumsy, because I know I sure am. I look up and become even more ashamed of myself as I see that he isn't an old guy, but rather a young and extremely attractive one. I can't believe Kate didn't drag herself to this interview no matter how sick she is.

"Miss Kavanagh." I guess his incredibly efficient employees failed for some reason to let him know about my substitution. He shakes my hand once I'm on my feet again, and his long fingers feel like ropes wrapping around my wrist. I've got to get that unpleasant thought out of my head. "I'm Christian Grey. Are you okay? Why don't you sit down over here."

Whoa he's incredibly good-looking, tall, dressed in a fine grey suit. His hair is an auburn color with one of those styles designed to make it look like he didn't even try to fix it, as if he thinks he's Robert Pattinson. He seems a bit pretentious, and his penetrating grey eyes are fixated on me right now. Grey-eyed Mr. Grey wearing a grey suit. How droll. Wouldn't someone as cultured as he is know that it's rude to stare? It makes me feel like a science experiment being scrutinized or like I'm a meal he's about to devour. I have to pause a moment before I can speak.

"Actually," I mumble as we shake hands. Was that a current of electricity flowing between us? Or maybe he has one of those prank devices hidden in his palm. Suddenly I realize it has been a while since I said the first word of my sentence and have just been shaking his hand in silence. I hope he doesn't think I'm mentally deficient. Then again, I was mumbling when I said it, so maybe he didn't even know I said anything. "Miss Kavanagh has a nasty case of the flu. She's at home puking her guts out, so I'm here instead. I hope you don't mind."

"So are you going to tell me your name, or should I just say, 'Hey, you'?" He seems either amused or interested. Or maybe he just needs to know what to call me.

"Anastasia Steele. I'm an English Lit major along with Kate at WSU."

"Okaaayyy," is his only response. I think he might be smiling a bit but it could just be discomfort at the situation. "Please sit down." He gestures toward an enormous white leather couch.

His office is oddly too big for one person. At least six people could easily fit their desks in here. Large office to compensate for something? And everything is cool white. It's like being in a hospital. I wonder fleetingly if this guy is trying to whitewash something unpleasant from his life on a psychological level. Nah, that would be too obvious. I notice a grouping of several small paintings of everyday objects on one wall. I blurt out a well-used line in advertisements before I can stop myself, "Raising the ordinary to extraordinary."

Apparently Mr. Grey hasn't heard that one before and is impressed. "You're exactly right." How embarrassing that now he thinks I'm clever just because I said something that he doesn't realize is unoriginal, even though he's a savvy businessman. He sits in the chair across the coffee table from me.

I begin digging through my ratty backpack, trying to find the digital recorder. I keep dropping the silly thing onto the coffee table while I try to set it up. Until now, I never realized how ridiculous my lack of hand-eye coordination makes me seem. I'd better look into physical therapy or something. Mr. Grey watches silently, which makes me feel even more stupid. It would be nice if he would act like a human being and help me or at least say something. I look up, and he's just staring at me, with one hand in his lap and the other under his chin. He's rubbing his lips with one of his unusually-long fingers. What the heck? Creepy, much?

"S-s-s-sorry," I stutter. Now I add speech therapy to the growing list of therapies I need. "I've never used a device like this before. You'd think if I could use a cell phone, I could figure this out, but…"

"Take your time, Miss Steele," he says, while he still has a hand in his lap and his finger stroking his lips in that weird way. Ick. Better not to think about it too much.

"It is okay to record you, right?"

"You waited until you were finished fumbling around with that recorder for several minutes, and then you asked me? If you only knew how much money I make every single minute and how much of it you just wasted. But I'll tell you a lot more about that later."

I blush bright red, which is going to make me seem even more incompetent. I can only hope he's just teasing rather than being a complete louse, although he's done nothing so far to lead me to believe he has even one ounce of humor. I just sit there, blinking at him like an idiot, until he finally decides to take control of this fiasco and says, "It's fine."

"Did Kate tell you what this is all about?" Because I sure as heck don't know.

"Yes. I'll be bestowing the degrees at graduation this year, so they want an interview in the student paper. Although it does sound like a boring article that most of the students won't read anyway."

Whew. I'm glad he knew why we're even doing this. It is kind of strange that someone so close to my own age is presenting the diplomas. At least Mr. Grey will provide something decent to look at during the long, boring ceremony instead of some crusty old guy who graduated from the college years ago like they usually dredge up for these things.

"I have a few questions for you, Mr. Grey." I feel my hair working it's way out of the ponytail. I know I'm probably starting to look like a drowned rat wearing an afro toupee. I've got to get this interview done and get out of here before it gets worse.

"Yes, that is what usually happens in these things they call interviews." Wow. Even if he's just kidding, he's still being kind of a jerk and making me feel dumb. I square my shoulders, push the record button, and try to look competent.

"Why do you think you've been so successful at such a young age?" I look up. Uh oh. He doesn't seem to like the question much. What was he expecting, a question about his sex life? Just you wait, Mr. Grey. I'll get to that.

"I'm good at figuring people out, Miss Steele. Once you know what someone wants, their hopes and dreams, what is important to them, you can manipulate them any way you want. I know that sounds wrong, but it's not all bad. I give them something in return once I've used them for my own ends." He stares into my eyes, perhaps to see how I'll respond to his sociopathic revelations. Or to try and figure out how to get what he wants out of me. "To be a winner, you have to know everything there is to know about the game. Well, I'm very good at the game, and I play to win. I know how to get what I want from people. And there are lots of good people out there who don't even realize what's happening."

"So you're a player?" Not a question on the list, but he's being such a dirtbag. I can see in his eyes that this wasn't exactly the way he wanted me to respond to his answer. What do you want to bet he'll alter his answers to impress me?

"I don't play around, Miss Steele. I just work hard and find the right people to work on. I mean with. I believe Harvey Firestone once said, "The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership."

"Someone thinks they're a G6." Oops that slipped out before I realized I was going to say it. I'm such an intoxicating mixture of sweet and sassy.

"Believe it, Miss Steele," his eyes show that he is 100% serious as he says the words. If I was smart, I'd probably leave now. Instead I just sit there unable to move, with my heart racing and my blush increasing like a cliched scene in a scary movie where the machete-wielding killer is chasing the girl and she just can't seem to get away. Hello, my body is trying to tell me something, but I'm not listening.

He's still doing that thing with his hands, too. Am I staying just because he's cute? Or maybe because I'm so backward and have almost no experience with men? If I'm not going to leave, I've got to ask another question to break this uncomfortable moment. "Do you do anything besides work?"

"Oh I do all kinds of things when I'm not at work. All. Kinds." He smiles in a way that makes me feel like he's seeing me in my underwear and likes what he sees. This isn't good at all. If my mother hadn't shipped me off to live with my stepdad when she married husband number three instead of focusing on her duty toward raising me, I would probably have enough self-esteem to run away from this guy. As it stands, I don't. Time to break the awkwardness again.

"What do you do when you want to just relax?"

"Relax?" He smiles in a way that shows off a mouthful of white teeth. For some reason, an image of the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood pops into my head. That's odd. "As I said, I have lots of money. Oodles. Tons. I put the mega in millionaire. When I want to relax, I engage in any number of expensive pastimes, many of them quite physical in nature, that involve using my…assets…to their best advantage.

Surely he's experienced enough to realize how uncomfortable he's making me, yet he just won't stop with the suggestive comments. Although why he would bother with someone so uncultured and plain, I have no idea. Maybe it's just a nasty habit, or he's a sexaholic. It's too bad I was raised by a stepfather who didn't know how to teach me to handle myself with men. I decide to ask the next question on the list. Onward and upward and back home asap if I know what's good for me. "Why do you invest in manufacturing?" That ought to get it back to a safe, boring track.

"I like the idea of having my hands on things, shaping them the way I want them to be. It's very satisfying." Or not. "Plus I love ships."

"Wow, it sounds like that really comes from the heart." Or from somewhere on that gorgeous-but-dangerous bod.

"There are people who would say I don't have a heart."

"Duh. I mean, why?"

"Because they have the experience to back the opinion." I guess he's proud of it?

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?

"Not at all. In fact, I rarely give interviews or talk to anyone outside of business matters, and therefore, have no friends who could say anything about me."

"So why are you allowing this interview?"

"Your friend was extremely persistent and sounded like a cute college girl. Plus it doesn't hurt to get some good PR through the college in return for the generous donations I've made."

The mention of college reminds me that I should be studying instead of participating in this fiasco. Out of the blue I ask another question that is completely off the charts. "What about farming? Why are you involved in that?" That ought to throw him for a loop.

"Well, Miss Steele, if that is your real name, I'd think a girl who goes to college would realize that you can't eat money. I've got loads of it, but that does me no good at dinnertime. Food has to be grown. On a farm. Someone has to work on that farm, and it's not going to be my unusually long fingers. It just makes good business sense to employ the world's poor to work my farm. Then we all get to eat. Win-win."

I'm dazed and confused, but I move on to the next question. "What philosophy do you live by?"

"I'm inspired by a proverb that loosely translates to: 'Possession is nine tenths of the law, so grab for the gusto. He who dies with the most toys wins.' If you couldn't tell already, I like to possess and control everyone and everything around me, even the poor. They'll eat or starve on my say-so."

"So you're a control freak?"

"It's my destiny to possess things." His smile is cold and calculating. Even I realize now that I need to get out of here. Yet I feel a duty to finish the interview for my bestie Kate. I peek at the next question.

"So you're adopted? What's that about?" It does explain a lot. Maybe he's the secret love child of Eva Peron and Kim Jong Il or something.

"If you want to know about that, you'll have to look the info up for yourself."

Oopsie. Apparently that's a sore spot. May as well rub a little salt in the wound. "And you don't have a family, because all you do is work and control people."

"Was there a question in there somewhere?" Now he's really getting ticked off. And I'm just getting warmed up.

"Are you gay, Mr. Grey? Hey, that rhymes!" He takes a dramatically audible breath. Darn. That was fun, but now he's mad. And Mr. Grey is scary when he's mad. "Sorry, I'm just going off of the list."

"Well, I'm not gay. And are you stupid or just inexperienced? Couldn't you come up with your own questions? Why are you even doing this interview?"

Surely he hasn't already forgotten. "Remember, my roommate Kate Kavanaugh is sick with the flu, so I'm doing her a favor?"

"Ahhhh, that explains it." Does it? I have no idea what he's talking about, especially since he has locked eyes with mine and seems to be attempting to hypnotize me or do some kind of Vulcan mind meld.

Luckily Blondie 2 barges in right at that moment. "Two minute warning for your next meeting. In an office this state-of-the-art, I probably should've used the intercom, but you failed to program me for it."

"Cancel the meeting," Mr. Grey turns the hypno-vision on her, and she becomes even more robotic, if that's possible.

"I'll cancel the meeting," Blondie 2 turns smoothly and silently exits the room. I'm pretty sure her feet weren't even actually touching the floor.

"Now, Miss Steele, tell me all about yourself and your interactions with your college girlfriends: sleepovers, late-night study groups, that sort of thing." He braces himself in the chair, clasping his hands so that the tips of his long pointer fingers meet over his lips, and stares deeply into my eyes again.

Oh, boy. I'm not experienced enough to know where he's going with this, but my instinct tells me he's up to no good. "There's really nothing to tell."

"Really? So I think that when you graduate, you should work here."

That one was out of left field. Even though I accused him of being gay two minutes ago, now he wants to hire me? Something seems suspicious. "Oh, I really don't think I belong here." I put the recorder and list of questions back into my cheap, worn-out backpack and start edging toward the door.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, as his head tilts unnaturally to one side, a smile on his lips.

"Well, I'm a hipster, and your office is obviously mainstream. I mean, everyone is blonde and wears dark suits. I have brown hair and thrift store cardigans. Plus, remember how I tripped and fell on my way in? I could've broken my neck and sued you for all you're worth. I'm sure you don't want that type of liability on your staff."

"Come, let me show you around." It's as if he wasn't listening to a word I said. Somehow he has made it effortlessly from the chair to my side in .5 seconds, and he's got that intense look in his eyes again. Yikes.

"I'm sure you're busy, what with all the blonde secretaries and migrant farm laborers to subjugate. Plus, I've got to get Kate's car back to her."

"You're driving? In the rain? Are you mad? Well if you insist on it, then you'd better be extra careful." Ummm, okay, dad. "Do you have enough information for the article? Because now that I've cancelled my meeting, I've got all day."

"I'm sure I have everything Kate needs. Except Pepto Bismol! Ha ha!"

He holds out his hand so that I'm forced to put mine in his for a handshake. I feel a jolt of electricity. Yep, he definitely has one of those prank devices hidden in his palm. So childish. "It's been a pleasure, Miss Steele. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime soon. Somewhere unexpected."

"At graduation. You did say you were handing out our diplomas."

"Oh, yes, of course, there's that. Now, allow me to open the door for you so that you won't be able to trip on your way out and sue me."

I feel my face flame up in a blush again. What a jerk. "Thanks a pant load, Mr. Grey," I sputter, aware that he's laughing at me. He follows me out as I stomp toward the elevator. I'm also aware that the Blondefords are watching. Their synthetic eyes are probably recording my every move.

"Let me get your jacket," says Mr. Grey without taking his eyes off of me. He simply holds out his hand. One of the Blondies-I realize I really can't tell them apart- hops up, snatches my down vest off of the chair, and puts it in his hand. He extends it toward me, and I take it and put it on, feeling extremely conscious of three pairs of eyes watching me do so.

Then he reaches out and places his hands on my shoulders. I gulp, thinking he's either about to kiss me or take a bite of me. Instead he calmly removes his hands and presses the elevator button. We stand in an uncomfortable silence as the elevator makes its way to the 20th floor. As soon as it opens, I dive inside, thankful to be safely on my way out. I turn to make sure he's not following me. He's standing there leaning against the wall still staring at me. He's the most reprehensible guy I've ever met, and yet still seems incredibly attractive. Does this thought indicate that I'm probably going to make some stupid decisions about him in the future?

"Anastasia. I remember your full name." And I realize he has my other identifying info too, thanks to the form I filled out downstairs. Great.

"Christian," I reply, hoping he'll think about what his name is supposed to mean. Somehow I have a feeling he won't. Thankfully, the elevator doors close, and I feel as if I've just escaped from the clutches of a dangerous vampire.


	2. Chapter 2

Fifty Shades of Surreality Chapter 2

(I'm going to post this chapter and hope for the best. I'm pretty sure I'm overthinking it at this point… I don't want anyone to think that I blatantly ignored the reviews from chapter 1 about how I need to improve this. However, if I take suggestions such as using more realistic dialogue, being less immature, etc, it will no longer be a parody, which is what I'm shooting for. I'm trying to overemphasize some aspects of the story and characterization that I see in the original. As for allowing the characters to go in a different direction than the original, I would like to do that eventually. I have started out just going line by line from the original and simply inserting my own silliness into the character's thoughts and dialogue. I changed the title because it was not being taken the way I meant it. I'm just trying to have some fun, and I hope that some of you will go along for the ride :)

My heart is thumping out a message in morse code telling me that I should get away from here, away from Mr. Grey. As soon as the elevator opens onto the first-floor lobby, I rush out, sliding around on the perfectly-polished floor like Bambi on ice. These too-big, cheap knock-off of knock-off boots were clearly not designed for people with coordination issues. I slide into the splits once, but luckily I don't fall. I need to get out of here before I can make any more of a spectacle of myself. So naturally I sprint through the glass doors and out of the building. In hindsight, the only thing that would have looked more ridiculous would have been if the doors hadn't actually been open, and I had run smack into them. At least Mr. Grey won't see any of it. Unless he's freaky enough to watch my exit on security video. Nah, surely not. Outside I revel in my escape, as I turn my face up to the cleansing rain, open my arms wide, and twirl, re-enacting my favorite scene from _Singin' in the Rain_. It never fails to calm me down.

I've never felt like this before, and I try to pinpoint what caused it. Was it Christian Grey's drop-dead gorgeous looks? His pretentious behavior? His piles of money? The way he tried to exert his power to control me? I'm not sure exactly why I flipped out, but I'm certainly relieved to be out of there. I skip through some puddles, then grab onto one of the columns outside the building and swing myself around it as I come to the tap-dance finale a la Gene Kelly. Whew! Musical numbers always make me feel better. Eventually as my heart rate returns to normal, and I stop feeling like I'm going to pass out, I make my way to the car.

As I peel out of the parking lot and speed away from Seattle, I start to wonder if I overreacted by not allowing Mr. Grey to dominate me. I'm such a doofus! I could've just imagined his sociopathic tendencies. After all, Christian Grey is extremely attractive and confident. On the other hand, he is also arrogant and despotic. Yet that could be just a front for the real feelings he keeps buried: deep dysfunction that can only be resolved by the love of a virtuous woman. Or else he needs the blood of a virgin to break an enchantment that makes him behave like a beast. And why shouldn't he get what he wants? What with his control over the starvation of the world's poor, he holds roughly the same amount of power as the dictator of a third-world country. I shudder as I realize he probably thinks I'm just a little nobody that can be manipulated. And isn't that exactly what I am? Since I've talked myself out of blaming Mr. Grey, I lash out at Kate. Darn her for not warning me! What kind of person sends their best friend into that kind of situation?

I'm probably driving erratically as my mind continues to drift, but it would serve Kate right if I wrecked her car. Paybacks are hell. And what in the heck is going on with Christian Grey? It sounded like he was trying to lure me into something. If only I was worldly enough to understand what. I flinch as I realize that I more or less called him a fruity bastard by asking him about being gay and adopted. Where is a giant sinkhole when you actually need one? Ugh! I'll never live it down, but at least he'll never forget me. Freaking Kate Kavanagh!

I glance down at my speed, and realize that now I'm poking along at barely over the limit. It must be the power of suggestion that I should drive carefully in the rain. Okay Grandpa Grey, with your off-color comments juxtaposed with mysterious admonishments of impending doom!

I have to stop thinking about it and move on. Then again, I'd better be careful about putting Christian Grey behind me. I don't trust what his ropy fingers and urge for domination might do back there. PTSD from dealing with all of this must be affecting my mental processes, because I perk up thinking about the fact that I never have to see him again. I've apparently forgotten that he'll be at my graduation. I crank the stereo as soon as I find a station with music you've never heard of. I have to enjoy it as long as I can, because it will turn to static as soon as I get outside of town. Then I mentally stick my tongue out at Mr. Grey and put the pedal to the metal as I put some miles between us.

Kate's parents own the duplex that Kate and I have lived in off-campus for the past four years and allow me to pay peanuts for rent. It's crazy how much those people love peanuts! I had never heard of such a thing, but it works for me. Peanuts are pretty cheap, especially when you buy in bulk. As I arrive home, I dread having to tell Kate what happened during the interview. Oh wait! I can just let her listen to it on the recorder!

"Finally! I've been in an agony of suspense." Kate greets me from the living room couch, where she's apparently been studying for finals (although I thought I caught a glimpse of Facebook on her laptop right when I walked in), still in the pink Playboy pjs she always wears after breaking up with boyfriends, while depressed, when sick, and during any other similar occasion. It would be nice if she would wash them once or twice in-between. She jumps up to hug me in an energetic way that makes her "flu" seem suspicious. "What took you so long?"

"Well, it was five hours of driving and a one-hour interview. What did you expect?" I throw the digital recorder at her.

"Okay, okay! Thank you for doing the interview. I know I owe you big-time. So, spill. Tell me all about Mr. Grey," she demands.

Here I just get in the door, and I'm being interrogated about something I'd rather forget. What's next, bamboo shoots under my nails? "I'm just glad that I don't have to see him ever again. He's so overbearing for someone so young. I mean he's practically a boy. A bad, bad boy." Kate's eyes are glazed over. What the heck? "Snap out of it! Why did you send me in there looking like I'm either mentally deficient or have been stranded on a desert island for the past ten years? I looked like a dummy for knowing nothing at all about him."

Kate smacks herself in the mouth to show it wasn't on purpose. "Oopsie! Even thought I'm the editor of a college paper, it just never occurred to me that you'd need to know some basic information about the person you were interviewing."

I huff and puff but decide not to blow the house down. "His manners were impeccable, except for the sexual connotations and strange hand movements. He's like an old man, even though he's young. He's like Benjamin Button, aging backwards or something, and even hotter than Brad Pitt, if that can be possible."

"Well, I'm sorry for not filling you in before you went, but I was in a dither trying to figure out how to get the interview done while I was sick. So so sick." I think she just remembered that she's supposed to be 'sick'. "I'll just go work on the article now."

"You seem fine to me. How was the soup?" At least we're off the subject of Christian Grey.

"It was like a miracle cure! It's amazing! I'm all better!" She smiles innocently at me.

Kate's like goat cheese: I like it but a little goes a long way, and I've had enough for now. I make a show of looking at my watch. "Oh, my! Look at the time! I'd better rush off to the hardware store for work."

"How will you possibly make it through a shift after the long day you've had?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Gotta earn those peanuts!"

Thank goodness for the mind-numbing work at Clayton's Hardware Store to help me forget about Christian Grey. Although thinking about the fact that I've forgotten him actually means that I am thinking about him. Darn. I've worked at the store for all four years of college. Since I'm a hipster, I like that it's not part of a chain. Plus it's taught me a lot about items used for DIY. Unfortunately it's all for naught since I suck at DIY.

The store is busy right now, and Mrs. Clayton seems glad to see me. She puts me right to work, and I soon forget all about Mr. Grey. Dang it; there I go again!

Back home after my shift, I see that Kate's caught up in her unorthodox method of transcribing from the recorder onto her laptop while holding the story between her teeth. It makes her nose red, but it does seem to increase her productivity. I'm so worn out by the day's events that I throw myself onto the couch, remembering all the final papers and tests that haven't gotten finished thanks to you-know-who. There! I finally put him out of my mind!

"Wow, Ana, this is good material! Why didn't you let him give you a tour? Clearly he wanted to show you the size of his...corporation." Kate waggles her eyebrows up and down.

I blush and my heart starts racing. That can't be a good sign can it? I think Mr. Grey just wanted to show me his vast empire so that I would feel even more like one of his subjects. Ouch! Did I seriously just bite my own lip? Is this a sign of a latent neurotic disorder? Thankfully Kate doesn't seem to have noticed in the midst of her eyebrow twitching.

"I can hear the hotness in his voice. Let me read your notes."

"Must I remind you that your exact words were 'Just ask the questions, press the record button, and leave the rest to me'?"

"Alright, don't get your panties in a bunch! Sure wish I had some pictures of him, though. For the article I mean, not for myself. That would be weird. But he is super-hot, am I right? Am I right?" She holds her hand up for a high five, but I ignore it.

"Oh, is he? I guess I hadn't really made any such observations."

"Come on, Ana! Dude is FOINE! Don't act like you didn't see it." Kate continues the eyebrow wiggling. What is she Groucho Marx? We make quite a pair with her eyebrow spasms and my lip biting and eye rolling. We could be billed as the Epilepsy Twins at the local freak show.

"I'm sure you could've worked your feminine wiles on him more successfully than I did."

"No way! He was so impressed that he tried to get you to work for him. I'm seething with jealousy that you nailed the interview like that after I twisted your arm to do it without any preparation." Kate seems to be contemplating something, such as the fact that I've inadvertently stolen her spotlight, so I escape into the kitchen. I don't like to be in the same room with her when she's conjecturing.

"Seriously, though. Tell me what you thought about him." Whoa! How did she get in here? She's like a dog with a bone. She won't let go of it. I have to say something-and fast!

"Well, he's ambitious, domineering, conceited...frightening, but mesmerizing. In fact, I'm pretty sure he tried to hypnotize me and that his secretaries are either clones or androids." Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

"You? Hypnotized by a man? You're so backward that I can't even image you looking a man in the eyes long enough for that to happen. In fact, that's probably what saved you." She ROFLs.

I make a giant sandwich to hide behind. When I explain to my therapist how I use food to cope with anxiety, she says it must mean something different to me than it does to most people. "I can't believe I asked if he was gay. It really made him mad."

"Well he's never pictured with a woman. According to the internet, that makes him gay."

"It was a humiliating experience. I'm just glad I'll never have to see him again." Unless he pops up unexpectedly at work. And when he hands me my diploma at graduation.

"Oh, come on! He clearly likes you. Don't worry about his dysfunction. Just go for it!"

He likes me? Kate must be mistaken. "Do you want some of this big sandwich?"

"Okay!"

After we make a blessedly Christian Grey-free meal of the giant sandwich, I get my _Tess of the d'Urbervilles_ paper done. Boy that Tess was one crazy broad! She could've been a guest on Dr. Phil or even Jerry Springer. I finish around midnight, climb into bed, and fall fast asleep with my mother's quilt over me. My dreams are of dark places (like a secret room?),cold, white floors (sanitized to cover something?), and gray eyes. Wait, maybe they were Grey eyes! This dream seems laden with psychological meaning.

Anyway, I'm way too busy with studying for finals and working at the hardware store to think about it further. Kate is also busy enough to give me some breathing room. She has completely recovered from her "illness", and changes out of her bunny pajamas. Thank goodness! I don't know how much longer I could have taken the smell. I call to catch up with my mom, who begins gushing about her newest occupation of candlemaking. Thanks to the ADHD and various other disorders, she is constantly hopping from one activity to another. The same can be said of her relationships with men. I can only hope she hasn't pawned everything she owns to buy wax and wicks. And that Bob, her current elderly sugar daddy, can keep up with her crazy schemes in his motorized scooter. At least he should be able to do so better than Numero Tres who had lost his legs in 'Nam.

"How are you, hon?"

I pause awkwardly for a moment before answering, "I'm a-okay!"

"You met someone didn't you?" Whoa! How did she know? Maybe because I acted so weird about it. She's jittery with excitement. She probably forgot to take her meds again.

"Mom, I'll be sure to tell you if and when that happens." Dishonesty is the best policy when your mom has such a terrible track record with men, yet still insists on giving you relationship advice.

"You need a man! We women are worthless without them."

"Speaking of men and worthlessness, how is Ol' Bob?" That oughta shut her up for a while.

Next, I call Ray, mom's Numero Dos, who raised me when mom ran off to marry Numero Tres. I actually use his last name, because he was more of a parent to me than my biological mother. Our calls are short, since Ray only speaks in Neanderthal. If he answers and grunts, I know he hasn't kicked the bucket. Ray was great at teaching me manly things, such as watching sports, bowling, fishing, and sawing wood. Too bad he wasn't able to teach me any girl stuff, like proper use of hair products.

Kate and I have just decided we need a break from working and studying when our friend Jose appears on our doorstep with a bottle of bubbly. What a crazy random happenstance!

"No way, Jose! Glad you came by. Air hug!"

Jose and I met the first day at WSU, and I've been leading him on ever since. Another crazy random happenstance is that our dads were army buddies. Jose is majorly smart! He's going to be a photographer, so I'm not sure why he got his degree in engineering.

"Guess what I have to tell you?" His eyes sparkle with excitement.

"They still haven't expelled you?" LOL! That's our special inside joke. Neither of us is sure why it's so funny, but we laugh like crazy everytime it's said. We flirt with each other a lot, but I never let him get anywhere.

"I have a photography showing next month."

"Oh my gosh! That's great!" It creates a plausible excuse to throw my arms around him without having to move past the guise of friendship.

Kate just smiles, because she doesn't like to participate in false seduction. "Congrats! I'm going to announce it in the paper! It seems like a good enough reason to stop the presses on a Friday night when the edition has already gone to print. I'm the editor. I do what I want!"

"You have to come to the opening and celebrate with me." He makes eyes at me, causing me to blush. After the interview with Christian Grey, I said I'd never felt that way before, and now here I am blushing all over the place again. He flicks his eyes at Kate. "Oh, and you can be the third wheel if you must."

Jose is great, but after all of this flirtation, he might expect more than friendship. I feel like he's more of a brother though, and that's just not legal in this state. Kate often tells me that I'm turning into an old spinster who'll die and be eaten by my 47 cats, but I want excitement, not friendship. If that comes at the hands of a sociopathic megalomaniac, so be it.

Maybe that means I'm dysfunctional. Or maybe I just want epic love: love that will last forever, like in books. Like _Romeo and Juliet_, _The Great Gatsby_, or _Silence of the Lambs_. Unfortunately, I haven't experienced that yet.

A voice inside my head whispers, '_Oh, but you have._' Get out of my head! Why am I suddenly hearing creepy voices like in _The Shining_? '_Are you gay, Mr. Grey?_' It's like I'm being haunted. What's that ab-hubba hubba! I'm distracted from my mental issues by Jose's hot, muscular bod in tight jeans and t-shirt. Hello, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome! As he pops the champagne cork and looks into my eyes, I think how glad I am that he isn't picking up on my mixed signals and understands our relationship limitations.

Saturday is awful at Clayton's. There are sooooo many people wanting to buy hardware supplies. What's that about? It's really annoying. We're so busy that I have to do a working lunch. I'm sitting at the check-out counter doing paperwork with a bagel hanging out of my mouth, when I look up and into the gray eyes of Christian Grey, who has been lurking there in silence for who knows how long.

It scares the crap out of me, but I'm conditioned to act as if it's fine.

"Well, well, well, Miss Steele. Fancy meeting you here." Like a snake about to strike, he doesn't even blink.

Great Scott! He looks like he fell out of a Ralph Lauren ad with his thick sweater, boots, and artfully wind-blown hair. Of course my body chooses that exact moment to have a convulsion. My mouth droops open, my muscles go rigid, and I can't speak.

With my jaw at that angle, all I can do is croak out, "Mr. Grey." Now he's laughing at me. Nice.

"I just happened to be driving by and needed some supplies. Good to see you, Miss Steele." His voice is heated and robust like a nice cheese fondue.

My symptoms escalate, my head jerking back and forth, my heart racing, and my face flushing as he continues to ogle me rather than be concerned about my seizure. He's much hotter than I even remembered, like a marble statue of a Greek hero displayed in the middle of the store. Who'da thunk? Finally, my fit eases up.

"Ana. Me. Ana." I mumble. "What do you want, Mr. Grey?"

He refuses to speak, only smiling enigmatically. Okay, fine. I'll play your silly game by your rules. After all, you're the one with all the looks, money, and power.

"I need a few innocent little novelties, such as cable ties," he mutters. He seems to be amusing himself by having some sort of scavenger hunt. Although cable ties seem like an odd object even for a scavenger hunt.

"You're in luck. We specialize in cable ties. Follow me." I murmur, my voice trembles. '_Fasten your seatbelt, Steele. You're in for a bumpy ride._' It's that voice again.

Grey gives me the fish eye. "Fine. Show me what you've got, Miss Steele." I try to appear cool, but I know I'm going to blow it just 100%. Thank goodness I wore my Jello-proof pants today, because my legs have melted into gelatinous goop.

"Follow me to aisle eight, electrical goods. You know, where the tasers are kept." That sounded a bit overconfident. I peek up at him and wish I hadn't, as his infrared hotness feels like it's melting my eyeballs.

"I'll be right behind you," he murmurs, flexing his ropy long fingers.

He could strangle or restrain me with those fingers. Yikes. I take off down an aisle wondering why he's here, how he even knew where to find me. And the itty, bitty part of my brain that has some common sense answers-'_He's stalking you_.' Not even! I refuse to believe that. Why would someone so gorgeous who can have anyone he wants stalk someone as unworthy as me? Unless he has wacky tendencies that most women would run from. I immediately squelch my mind's protective instinct.

Just be cool. Be cool. "So, what brings a guy like you to a place like this?" Not cool.

"Remember that farming thing I told you about? I've made a generous donation to the college so that their research can benefit my farm." '_See, it's not even about you. Conceited much?_' an inner voice snarls and glowers at me. I think I'm developing a multiple personality. I'm terrified of the uncontrolled thoughts running through my head, but I struggle to keep it inside.

"So it's yet another win-win for you, the world's poor, and now the college?"

"Sure, why not?" he sneers.

It really freaks me out to watch those fingers curling around the different types of cable ties as he makes his selection. Why on earth would he need them? I avert my eyes as he measures them around my wrists and makes a selection. I'm not sure I like where this is going, but the customers always come first.

"Those should fit nicely. Now I need masking tape to go with them."

I can only hope that he needs all of this for a legitimate purpose. "Are you doing some work around the house?"

He smirks, "Oh, no. That's not the type of activity I need these for." I can tell that he's amused by my naiveté.

'_I'm funny how? I mean funny like I'm a clown? I amuse you?_' The other personality, I'll call her Ana Black, seems to be emerging more and more. She must be a development of the part of me that occasionally stands up for myself. I don't think she even spoke in chapter one, and now look at her go.

"The masking tape is over there in decorating," I mutter, hoping he won't notice that my other personality is trying to take over.

He follows me, and I catch a glimpse of him leering intently at me. "How long have you worked here?" Is he assessing the likelihood of them noticing I'm gone if he abducts me? I just don't know, and it makes me feel so unsophisticated. '_Put those eyeballs back into your head missy!_' Wow, Ana Black is bossy.

"Four years," I murmur as we reach the decorating aisle and I grab some tape for his perusal. I really can't figure out why we're muttering and murmuring so much.

"This one," Grey whispers as he holds the tape up beside my mouth for comparison. His touch is like a jolt of electricity. I really wish he'd get enough of the prank buzzer thing, but boys will be boys. I attempt to appear as if it didn't even bother me.

"What else for you today?" I sound out of breath as the pain fades.

"How about some sturdy rope to go with the tape and zip ties?" He's out of breath, too, for some reason.

"Over here," I turn my face away so that he can't see me blushing, although I don't know why I suddenly care about that now when he's already seen me blushing about 27 times up to this point.

"Here are the kinds we carry: nylon, natural fiber, etc.." My words trail off as he whips a tape measure out of his back pocket and starts taking my measurements. '_Holy moly_.' Shhhh!

After he has me try an experiment where I attempt to free myself from the different types of rope, he makes his selection. Then he uses a formula to calculate the amount needed to wrap around my ankles and wrists in a hog tie configuration, and I cut the length for him. With my lack of coordination, it's a miracle that i don't lose a finger to my knife as his gray eyes burn into me. I wonder if they're bionic. Why not? After all, he has android employees. It's niggling at the back of my mind that I've read something about what this combination of items could be used for. What was it? Kidnapping? Serial killer? Nah. Oh, I know, restoring the ceiling of the Sistene Chapel!

"Tell me about the time you and your little friends shared a cabin at Girl Scout camp." That seems to come out of nowhere. He is smiling strangely. '_Keep your eyes off his lips!_' Ummm, okay…

"I'm not really a joiner, Mr. Grey."

One eyebrow stretches upward. He and Kate must be taking the same class or the same drugs or something.

"Well then what are you interested in, Anastasia?" There's the mysterious smirk again. I can't really answer just now, because I'm trying to balance on a set of plates someone left on the floor-weird-and lamenting my lack of coordination. '_Chill out, Ana,_' my multiple personality pleads with me. I have to think of something clever to say.

"Books," I sigh. So. not. it. '_Idiot! Why didn't you say HIM?_' I mentally slap the snot out of Ana Black. I can't let her get the upper hand in the personality hierarchy.

"What sort of books?" He does his trademark unnatural sideways head tilt. '_What does Mr. Sneaky need with this info?_'

"Oh, just what every approximately 22-year-old female reads. British classics. I mean, it's more or less a requirement that English majors love that crap."

Oh no, there goes the odd finger-to-lip rubbing again. I don't even want to know where his other hand is.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" I will not look at his other hand. I will not look at his other hand…

"What would you like to help me with?"

Uh, definitely not with whatever your weird fingers are doing. "Maybe I can just suggest a product to help you take care of yourself?" He seems to like that suggestion as I glance pointedly at his tight pants. "Coveralls to keep your clothes clean."

There goes the arching eyebrow again as he struggles to make something off-color out of that one. "Or I could just run around in the nude." He leers at me.

"Er…." I'm blushing again. '_Shut up you freaking idiot! Do you have no common sense? Did you notice the combination of items he just purchased?_'

"Fine, I'll buy the coveralls. I'll never use them, but I'm trying to impress you."

I'm not even listening as my mind wanders to picturing him naked.

"Anything else for you today?" I screech as I toss the coveralls at him.

"Did you finish the article about me?" I guess he's not going to do me the common courtesy of answering my question, but at least this is a topic that surely won't lend itself to sexual connotation.

"It seems we're both experiencing memory lapses. Remember, I've explained several times now that I'm not writing the article. I was just filling in for my bestie Kate Kavanagh. After she found out how sexy you are, she was super jealous that she faked the flu and sent me instead." Yay! No inappropriate responses so far. "The only thing is that she wishes she had some pictures of you."

"What kind of photographs?"

"For the article, not for her. That would be weird."

"Well, swing by my hotel room tomorrow, and we'll see…"

"You'd let two college girls take pictures of you in your hotel room?" I shriek. Kate will be so grateful if i can make this happen, that my monthly peanut payment will probably be waived. '_You just want to see His Hotness again._' Shut up! I am not going to let myself think about the items he bought today and the safety issues involved in being in his hotel room. "Kate will love this-if we can find someone with a camera." I flash a big smile to show him my gratitude, and he actually blinks for the first time today. It startles me and causes me to momentarily lose my balance on the plates.

'_Christian Grey blinks._'

"RSVP." He hands me a business card. "Call my cell before ten tomorrow. Otherwise, I might cruise local schools looking for another girl fitting your description."

"Okie dokie." I beam with delight. Kate is going to crap herself!

"Yo, Ana!" My boss's younger brother is yelling at me from an aisle away.

"Um, hang on a minute, Mr. Grey." He doesn't seem to like this much.

Paul Clayton is my pal, and I'm thrilled to take a break from Mr. Super-attractive-but-Super-controlling Grey to talk to someone who is as interested in me as he would be a kid sister.

"Looking good, Ana! Yum yum!" He scans me up and down, then pulls me close with one arm. It's embarrassing how he gets so handsy.

Christian Grey is staring daggers at Paul, so I decide to be polite and introduce them.

"Paul, Christian. Christian, Paul." They square off like two MMA fighters getting ready to hop into the cage. I do love me some blood in the octagon, but for some reason, I decide it's not a good matchup.

I start chattering incoherently, "Paul is visiting from Princeton, where he's in business administration…" '_Shut your mouth!_'

Christian extends a hand to shake, "Mr. Clayton." His face is a blank.

"Hold up, not the dude who owns Grey Enterprises and Holdings?" Paul does a 180 as he realizes that Christian might be a valuable connection in the business world. "Man o man, what can I do you for?"

"Ana has already…taken care of me. She's very thorough." The words seem fine on the surface, but it seems as if there is another level that I'm missing.

"Awesome. Then I'll see you later, Ana." Paul slinks away.

"Okay then. Will that be all for today, Mr. Grey?"

"I believe I have everything I need for the task at hand." His voice is like ice. I don't know what I did wrong.

I total his cable ties, masking tape, rope, and coveralls.

"Forty-Three bucks." Why is he still doing the snake thing with his eyes? I feel like he's going to swallow me whole.

"Should I put it in a sack for you?"

"Pleasssssssseeee, Anasssssstassssssia." Whoa my heart races again as he sounds like a snake. I quickly put his items in a bag.

"Call me about the picturesssssssss." I shake my head and give him his credit card back. "Good. Then maybe I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and for the record, I'm glad Miss Kavanagh had the fake flu." He grins and exits the store, throwing the plastic bag over his shoulder like a Prada model would throw a jacket. I'm so confused at my conflicting feelings.

'_I like him._' Well, I'll admit that he's cute. There's nothing wrong with thinking that. And there's nothing wrong with finding a photographer to take some photos in his hotel room. Ouch! I just bit my stupid lip again. Maybe I have a chemical imbalance of some kind. Oh, well, no time to worry about that. I have to call Kate right now and tell her what's up.


	3. Fifty Shades of Surreality Chapter 3

Fifty Shades of Surreality Chapter 3

Kate is elated.

"Why on earth would he be at the place where you work?" Wait, that doesn't sound the least bit like elation. I must've been mistaken. In fact, her suspicion seeps through the receiver. It's really gross, and I put her on speaker so it won't get into my mouth.

"I think he was on a scavenger hunt or something. The ways of the aristocracy are mysterious and unexplainable, like Oprah or Tom Cruise. A simple commoner such as I cannot hope to understand it."

"Doesn't it seem more plausible that the most eligible, wealthy, gorgeous bachelor in the country has become so enamored of a clumsy, backward 22-year-old with bad hair and clothes that he drove 2 1/2 hours to give a grant to the college just so he could have an excuse to stop by her place of business which he only knew about because he's stalking her?"

"Nah, he's just in town visiting the college because of his farming research donation," I murmur.

"I'll say: to the tune of $2.5 mil!" Whoa, pony!

"Where did you get that info?"

"Well I am the editor of a small college newspaper, and I own many leather-bound books. Plus I'm a major know-it-all."

"Last time you got this excited over an article, you pulled all your extensions out. Bald is not a good look for you. Can you calm down enough to figure out how to get the pictures?"

"Oh, it's going to happen. I just don't know the logistics."

"We could call him and find out."

"How would we do that smartypants? He's notoriously secretive about his activities, like Pol Pot, Fidel Castro, and Imelda Marcos."

"He gave me his number."

"You have the cell phone number of the A-#1 studmuffin in the state and you didn't tell me until just now?"

"I guess…"

"That clinches it! He's hot for Ana! I can definitely use this to my advantage."

"He's just being nice. I mean, you should've seen him at the store today, buying so many random items just to give me something fun to do at work." Except that Christian Grey is definitely more naughty than nice. And he did say he was glad Kate was pukey. I wrap my arms around myself and rock back and forth like a nuthouse inmate in a straight jacket. Thank goodness we're just on the phone, so Kate won't make me start taking my meds again.

"Well, I don't see how I'm going to pull this off, since my minion/photographer Levi just HAD to attend a family function out of town this weekend. So selfish and inconsiderate. It's not as if I could just snap it myself using a modern digital camera with automatic settings that make it almost impossible to take a bad picture. I mean, this is an article in a relatively unknown college paper we're talking about! It has to be handled professionally."

"Let's see, who do we know that does photography and is at my beck and call…I've got it! Jose!"

"Perfect! He'd do anything to get some play with you. Even though it's really for me, but he doesn't have to know that. Make it work." I can't believe the way Kate wants me to flirt with Jose just to get what she wants! "Then call Mr. Grey and get the 411."

"Why can't you do it? It's for your article."

"Call Jose? Girl, puhlease! He's not worth my time." Kate sneers.

"Of course I'll call Jose. I'm the one he's secretly hoping to sleep with. I meant why should I call Mr. Grey?"

"Well for one, he's also hoping to sleep with you. B. for some strange reason, he's not interested in me. Tres, you do all my dirty work."

"I don't think a little stalking incident qualifies as interest. Maybe you should've done the interview, and then I could be living my life right now, not yours." I screech, my voice ascending to a level that causes a nearby lightbulb to pop.

"Oh I know you di-int! Girl, you better recognize! You're living in MY house for peanuts. I'm calling in a favor. Haven't you ever watched _The Godfather_ or _Jersey Shore_? Don't be surprised if you find something nasty in your bed. And I'm not talking about Jose," she snarls and ends the call. Apparently she thinks she's a mob boss now. I moon my cell phone to show her she doesn't own me.

As I'm texting Jose about the photo shoot, Paul sneaks up on me in the storeroom under the guise of finding some sandpaper. "Uh, maybe you could do what you're getting paid to do and help some customers?" he says in a voice totally devoid of sarcasm or irritation.

"Ok, sure," I mumble, eager to escape being in the secluded area alone with him.

"So, Christian Grey? What's that about?" Paul sounds questionably casual.

"Kate was "sick"-slash-didn't want to waste her time driving to Seattle, so she made me do it." I shimmy my shoulders in an attempt at indifference, but it comes off as oddly as Paul's behavior does.

"Christian Grey was in our little hardware store. Whoo weee!" Paul whinnys and throws his head around like a horse reacting to an unfamiliar bit. "Whatevs. How about you let me buy you a drink tonight? Code: I want to sleep with you!"

He's always pestering me to go out with him every time he's home, even though it's completely inappropriate for him to do so since his brother is my boss. Besides that, he's only almost hot: a 9. I'm holding out for a hero: a 10. This seems at odds with my belief that I'm unattractive, but no one ever accused me of being logical. _'Grey's hot alright, but you aren't seriously suggesting that he could be a hero?' _Darn that voice in my head trying to get in my business again! I mentally backhand her into her place.

Now I have to get rid of Paul. "You told me you had plans with your brother like a family dinner or something?"

Paul taps a few buttons on his cell phone. "Rescheduled! Nothing standing in our way!"

"I wish I could tell you no like I really want to. Unfortunately, due to the rejection issues stemming from my mother's abandonment of me, I'm unable to do so. So for now the best I can do is to say maybe another time. I have to study for finals."

"See! I told my court-ordered psychiatrist that no doesn't always mean no! Sometimes it just means 'not now'. Or 'keep trying you'll wear me down eventually'. Or even 'hey just slip a roofie in my drink and I'll stop saying no'." He flashes a pedo-grin as I back away from him toward the front of the store where the bright lighting and plethora of witnesses enhance my well-being.

* * *

Jose whines, "I'm into objectification of people, not the people themselves. No way."

"Jose! Pleasepleaseplease?" I nag. I sashay seductively in front of the window where I suspect Jose is peeping as usual.

"Hand it over!" Kate snatches my cell phone, yanking out her weave and throwing it over her right shoulder for emphasis. "Get it straight, Jose Dewayne Elizando Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho Rodriguez! That promise to cover your gallery showing in the college paper is a bribe. You'll photograph Mr. Grey for us tomorrow or else, savvy?" Wow, maybe she really is a mobster. Or a pirate. It would account for her family's unexplained cash flow. "Ana will call you tomorrow with the time and location of the job. Don't fail me." Kate pitches my phone to the ground to show she means business. "Done. I'm in charge of this operation. I say where and when this thing goes down. Get Grey on the phone. Pronto!" She snaps her fingers.

As I pick up the pieces of my phone and put it back together so I can make the call, I feel my nervous stomach working itself up for a bout of anxiety-provoked diarrhea. I give Kate the stink eye when she isn't looking, snatch Mr. Grey's business card from my bra, and punch his number into my phone with jittery fingers.

He sounds either annoyed, efficient, or arrogant when he answers almost immediately, "Go for Grey."

"Ummmmm…..Mr. Grey? It's me, Anastasia Steele." I hope he recognizes me through the shaky voice I'm using as a disguise for our scheme. I strain to calm my overstressed bowels as I wait with quivering anticipation for him to speak.

He hesitates before responding, "Yesssss, Missssss Sssssteele, I can tell it'sssss you." Omigosh he's so smart! Now he's using a fake voice also, kind of a snaky Count Dracula, mystical and passionate. I gasp and blush. Am I his Lucy Westenra or his Mina Harker? Kate Kavanagh tries to hijack the moment by opening her mouth like she's a vampire too, so I dive-roll into the kitchen to elude her irksome spying.

"The photo shoot is on." I'm so out of breath from the exertion, I can barely speak. "Tomorrow. Where?"

I can tell he's baring his fangs in anticipation. "My hotel. 9:30 a.m. Be there."

"Gotcha. See ya then!" I'm babbling and panting like a lush, rather than someone with the ability to drink responsibly. Surely that wouldn't be a green light for a sociopath, would it?

"I look forward to

robbing you of your virtue.

I'm a sadist. Run!"

A haiku! Never have 17 syllables vowed to despoil me with such panache. This time I'm the one to throw my cell phone down. I see why Kate did it. It does have a satisfying effect, in the same way spiking the football after a touchdown does I guess.

"Anastasia Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo Steele!" Whoa! How does Kate always get in here like that? She's scrutinizing me. Where's a giant sandwich when you need one? "You-ou-ouoooo like him! You want to kiiiiiiss him!" She says in a singsongy voice. "You've looked a mess plenty of times, but this takes the cake. A red velvet cake: your face is so red! "

"I wear a blush so often that it could be considered my signature color, but for your information, red is in this season!" I rant. She flutters her eyelashes. I can only hope that it's another of her odd twitches and not a signal for the mafia sniper she has hidden on the building across the street to shoot. I calm myself to say, "It's just that he makes me feel…funny."

"Of course he'd stay in the nicest hotel in Portland. I'll get everything arranged from here on out." She's apparently using surveillance equipment, since I never told her about his hotel.

"Look, I have a life, too, and things that I need to do for myself, such as studying for finals for the last few classes that determine whether or not I'll graduate this semester. But I'm such a people-pleaser that I'll make you dinner first." I display my annoyance by slamming the cabinet doors around as I begin the task of preparing her meal.

* * *

I have nightmares that a mysterious man with fangs is pursuing me, trying to lure me into a dark space (a crawlspace?). He's wearing protective coveralls (easy to discard when stained with DNA?) and grasps at me with long, creepy fingers holding zip ties. What can this possibly mean? I jolt awake twice with my heart racing with fear, not that my unconscious mind is trying to warn me of impending danger, but that I'm going to have circles under my eyes and appear even more unattractive than usual. I have to sleep! I google sleep solutions, try an exercise where I put my pillow over my face and press it down, and finally drift off to Neverland.

* * *

The Feldgent is one of those trendy boutique hotels typical of renovated historical downtown areas. I'm driving myself, Jose, and his friend Travis (weird that I've never met him before), who is helping with lighting, to the gig in my VW Bug. Kate is of course driving separately in her Mercedes, since being seen in my car would not fit her image. Kate somehow arranged for us to use a hotel suite for free. She says it's because she's listing the name of the hotel in the article and because it's Christian Grey that we're photographing. An extremely anxious hotel executive jumps at Kate's every command. I wonder if it's because she's attractive or because she whispered some mafia-type threats to him, too. It's like she's the sculptor and he's the clay. In fact, when he tries to protest, she squeezes and pinches him pretty hard. Anyway, the facilities are plush, so I'm not questioning her methods.

We've only got about 30 minutes to get everything ready, and Kate is in command.

"Let's see, where could we pose him using only the space available in a hotel room? I've got it! Jose, I think we should photograph him over here by the wall. Aren't I a genius?" She glares at Jose, and he doesn't dare even respond. "Travis! Get these freaking chairs out of the way! Don't make me tell you every little thing, or I'll make your life miserable. Ana, get me a snack. You don't want my bloodsugar falling any lower than it already is, I promise you. And tell Mr. Grey to get his cute butt down here. I wait for no man."

Okay, Don Kavanagh. It's irritating to be bossed around like this, but I don't have the courage to defy her. I don't want to wear the Italian necktie or concrete shoes she threatened me with.

'_Come to mama!'_ When Christian Grey struts into the room wearing a white shirt and grey pants with wet hair, I'm immediately dehydrated by the solar hotness radiating from him. Although I guess what he's wearing isn't what matters, since white shirts and grey pants aren't really anything special. He's followed by a tough-looking guy in a dark suit and military haircut who goes to stand in fifth position in a corner of the room where he can keep an eye on things. The guy looks like a secret service agent or something.

"We really ought to stop meeting like this, Miss Steele." Mr. Grey shakes my hand yet again with the prank buzzer. Apparently he's not going to tire of it. I gasp at the sharp electric pulse running up my wrist and feel the flush in my face. I'm not sure if it's from anxiety or the repeated mild electrocution.

"Mr. Grey, Kate Kavanagh. Kate, Mr. Grey." I splutter, shaking my hand in an attempt to rid it of the pins and needles sensation. Kate goes toe-to-toe and chest bumps him to show she's the capo in Portland.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the sickly Miss Kavanagh." He smirks. "I guess you're completely recovered from your…illness, right? Anastasia said you were "unwell" when you were supposed to be interviewing me."

Without blinking or breaking her gaze in their staring contest, Kate responds, "Oh, I feel great. Thanks for your concern, Mr. Grey." I'm astounded at her temerity, but then again, Kate's family name provides her with a certain amount of power. She refuses to take any baloney from anyone. I wish I could do the same, especially since I detest hideously-pink deli meat made of anuses and elbows. But I'm just not as brave as Kate. When someone offers me baloney, I feel beholden by the demands of politeness to accept it.

"I'm glad you decided it was in your best interest to do the photo shoot." Kate smirks right back at him.

He breaks away from the competition first to glance over at me. "Believe me, the pleasure will be all mine." I blush over the top of the flush I already had. Darn it, I'm probably starting to look like Elmo.

"Allow me to introduce you to our photographer Jose," I say. Wow! I finally said something in a normal voice without murmuring, muttering, or screeching! This is real progress. I wink at Jose to keep him going with the whole photography thing. He winks back, then looks suspiciously over to Mr. Grey.

"Mr. Grey."

"Mr. Rodriquez." They lock eyes and begin to circle warily around each other. Just when I'm beginning to worry that someone is about to pee on me to mark territory, Grey asks in a sinister manner, "Just what exactly do you think is happening here?"

Kate has had enough of their male preening. "Get your tookus over here and have a seat! Please. Mr. Grey. Be very careful to follow my instructions. I wouldn't want you to get hurt. By accident if you know what I mean. A piece of lighting equipment inadvertently and inexplicably falls, it could be very bad. We don't want that, do we Mr. Grey?"

At that exact moment, Travis turns on a high-powered lamp-one so powerful that it can start fires if it's too close to something-and shines it right into Mr. Grey's eyes. It's almost as if it was planned, as if Travis is in league with Kate. But I must be imagining that, because he says he's so, so sorry for his clumsiness and switches the light off. Then we step aside as Jose begins the session. Jose gets caught up in the moment as if this is a modeling shoot, calling out to Mr. Grey to "work it, girlfriend! Bend and snap! So your hips don't lie, huh? Prove it! Shake what your mama gave ya! Twerk team!" As Grey shimmies and shakes for the next 20 minutes, I'm drooling like a pervert at a stripper convention. He's got them moves like Jagger. When our eyes meet, he pop lock and drops it, his gaze burning meaningfully into mine.

"Alright, alright, break it up!" Kate disrupts our rapture. "Grey, you're in time out. Go put your face in the corner." Travis scuttles over and moves furniture out of the way before Kate can yell at him.

Grey follows her instructions, and Jose continues to snap pictures. Man, is this a photo shoot for a college paper, or a center spread in _Playgirl_? How many pictures does Kate really need?

Suddenly, Jose calls out, "No mas! No mas!"

"That's a wrap! Nice doing business with you, Mr. Grey," Kate and Jose take turns shaking hands with Grey. Although I'd love to touch him, especially with the sexy sheen of perspiration glistening on his muscles from his exertions, I decide not to chance it, as feeling has only just returned to my hand from our earlier greeting.

"I can't wait to see the finished article as agreed upon, Miss Kavanagh," mutters Grey, as he spins around to face me. "Forward march, Miss Steele!"

"Ummm…okay." I'm not trained in dealing with such orders. I look to Kate for her reaction, but she just closes her eyes and pulls her shoulders up by her ears so she can't see or hear me. Behind her, I see Jose glowering, but I'm not sure whether it's at me or at Kate's weird stance. Maybe I'm being offered as some kind of reward?

"Check you later," Grey gives them the gunhand/wink/tongueclick goodbye and motions me to go ahead of him out the door.

_'Heavens to betsy; what in the world is going on here?'_ I await further orders in the hallway, squirming anxiously as Grey and his jarhead bodyguard follow.

"Take a hike, Taylor. I don't want witnesses for this," he mutters to Jarhead, who meanders down the corridor with a few step-ball-changes and snap-kicks. Grey spins around and locks onto my eyes with his laser glare. '_What very bad thing is he about to do to me?'_

"How about a cup of coffee?"

My heart leaps into my throat as I…wait, what? All of that for a freaking cup of coffee?_ 'It's a date, dork. Either that or he thinks your slow-wittedness is due to lack of caffeine.' _ I'm really starting to detest my other personality. I'm so jittery that I can barely speak.

"Gee, I'd love to, but everyone's in my car, so…." I mumble submissively, contorting my fingers painfully to show my deferrence.

"Taylor!" he barks, causing me to pee my pants a little bit. Not enough to really show. Taylor does a pivot turn and chasses back down the hallway toward us with opposition arms.

"Where are you taking them? To the college?" Grey's voice is velvety and hypnotic. I bow my head, unable to articulate the list of reasons why this is a bad idea. "Taylor will drive them. Problem solved."

"But the equipment-"

"We have an SUV with lots of cargo room for the equipment. Problem solved."

"Mr. Grey?" Taylor curtseys gracefully as he reaches us.

"Please take the others home. Everyone and everything except Miss Steele here. She's to be left quite alone with me."

"Of course, your Majesty," Taylor genuflects.

"Now that your friends will be leaving without you, there's absolutely no reason why you shouldn't accompany me for coffee." Grey grins, proud of his machinations.

It leaves me feeling uneasy. "I really hate for Taylor to have to go out of his way like that. I mean, I'm sure he has plenty of other things he could be doing." I glance hopefully at Taylor for the assist, but he's keeping his p-p-pokerface guarded. "Okay, fine. Let me give Kate my keys."

Grey's million-dollar, neon smile is lit up like Vegas. _'Wowsers…'_ He allows me back into the hotel room that he was blocking a moment ago. I sidestep his long-fingered hands and disrupt Kate hashing something out with Jose.

She immediately starts in on me, "Two little lovebirds, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" If looks could speak, Jose would be telling me to take a long walk off a short pier. Thank goodness they can't. "You know he's up to no good," adds Kate. I give her the talk-to-the-hand hand. Thankfully she doesn't say anything else about it to either me or my hand.

"Can we swap cars, Kate?"

"Why would I want to do that unless there's something in it for me?"

"I'm going on a coffee date with Christian Grey."

She's temporarily struck mute. It happens rarely, but when it does, I enjoy it while I can. This time it's short-lived. She twists my arm behind my back and marches me into the bedroom.

"Ana, I'm getting a strange vibe from him." She's using her spiritualist voice. "He's attractive but unsafe, particularly to you."

"Why should he be more unsafe for me than for any other woman?" I'm put out with her for trying to spoil my fun.

"You know what I mean, Ana. You're…well you're an innocent. Very, very bad men will try to use you for their own ends. You should be more restrained," she sounds irked. I blush. Yeah, I know, what else is new?

"Kate, you have to let me learn to fly sooner or later. I'll be careful. Besides, I have to come back to the nest before too long. I have finals to study for."

Kate smizes and prunes while she thinks about it. Then she pulls her car keys from her pocket and trades with me. "Seriously, don't stay gone too long with my car, or I'll have to contact some of my…um…people to come after you. And it wouldn't be pretty."

"Yay!" I throw my arms around her neck in thanks.

As I arrive back out in the hallway, I notice Christian Grey posing artfully against the wall in a purposeful way that indicates he has spent the past few minutes arranging himself to show off his sexy charms to their best advantage. Score a direct hit! "I'm yours! For coffee I mean." Yep, you guessed it before I said it: blushing.

He leers. "I'll follow you, Miss Steele." He extends his arm in a gesture for me to move ahead of him. My legs turn wobbly, my stomach begins to churn like a washing machine, and my heart lurches. _'Oh no! You have a coffee allergy. It gives you hives and gas.'_

It seems to be taking forever to reach the elevator at the end of the hallway. _'How will I tell him I've never been to a coffee shop before?'_ I'm almost catatonic with fear. How can we even have a conversation when I'm so innocent and he's so jaded? His mesmerizing voice brings me out of my trance.

"So have you known Katherine Kavanagh for a while?"

Thank goodness! He's sophisticated enough to know how to communicate even with a bumpkin like me.

"We've been besties since freshman year of college."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." What in the heck does that mean?

When we reach the elevators, he pushes the big red button. A bell rings, and the doors open. So that's how it's done! He's so wise in the ways of the world. I consider taking notes in case I need to use an elevator again, especially since I didn't take note of the instructions for my first elevator ride at his office building. But I forget all about that as we notice a naked couple in the thoes of passion on the floor of the elevator. Apparently shocked that the elevator doors opened only moments after its ascent, they hop up, grabbing their clothes and averting their eyes as we step into the space with them. I guess I'm not the only one backward enough to need a lesson in elevator etiquette. As the doors close and the elevator moves silently downward to the lobby, the humiliated couple hastily don their clothes. Unfortunately there's no muzak to cover any of it, which makes it all the more awkward.

When the doors open on the lobby floor, Grey surprises me by grasping my hand, wrapping his oddly-long fingers around mine. My heart races at the strange feeling of confinement. He pulls me from the elevator as if by a restraint. The couple bursts into nervous laughter as the elevator doors close once again.

"Elevators. Who knew?" he murmurs. He's so witty!

We head across the busy lobby. Grey stops short at the main, rotating door as if he has some kind of phobia of it. Perhaps this is foreshadowing that some terrible childhood trauma will be revealed at a much later point in our relationship. We exit out the side door.

It's a beautiful, sunshiny day outside. The traffic isn't bad, since it's a Sunday in May. Next thing I know, we're standing on a street corner, and he's still holding my hand. '_Christian Grey is holding my hand while I wait to cross the street._' Thanks Captain Obvious. Please report that to the Dept. of Redundancy Dept. Then again, I have a reason to be so hot and bothered. I was a hand-holding virgin, but not anymore! I want to shout it from the rooftops. This hand is tarnished! Christian Grey has sullied my hand! _'Take a chill pill.' _My other personality begs. Here we go with the voices again. When I start hallucinating little green men, I finally calm myself and continue on.

After a walk of four blocks, I'm not so cool anymore. In fact, I'm a bit sweaty. I think that's why Grey drops my hand so eagerly to open the door for me when we arrive at the coffee house.

"Hey, find us a table, and I'll get our coffee. What do you want?"

Okay, here's for the moment of truth. "I want…tea. With the bag out."

He waggles his eyebrows. I guess everybody does that around here. "You don't drink coffee like a typical American girl?"

"I think coffee is queer."

He snickers. "Okay, Nancy Drew. That's keen, jellybean." He continues to chortle.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just wondering if you may have been stuck in a time warp for the last 60 years."

"I don't get the joke."

"Nevermind. So you want the teabag to be dunked later. Got it. Honey?"

"Oh, sweetheart!"

"Awkward…I was just checking whether you want any type of sweetener."

"Oopsie…" I tie knots in my fingers so that the pain will distract me from my extreme embarrassment. _'Stupid stupid stupid.'_ I smack myself in the head with my agonized fingers. "Nope, none for me, thanks."

"Are you hungry?"

"Oh, no I couldn't possibly eat in front of you right now." I whip my head frantically back and forth, and he retreats to the counter to order.

I pretend to close my eyes, but in reality I peek out and over to the side at Grey while he's in line. I'm sure it's not at all obvious that I'm staring at him and his lean, lithe body and those pants…_'Oh those paaaahhhhnnnntzzzzz…'_ Now, as if he knows I'm watching, he runs his long, ropy fingers sensuously through his unruly, naughty, naughty hair. '_I'd like to run my fingers through that hair. Oh, yeah, I could run my fingers through that hair all day long!'_ Oh my gosh! Why are these illicit thoughts popping into my head? You guessed it, folks. I blush. But I don't stop there. I cycle through several of my disorders, lip biting, eye rolling, hand staring. All the while chastising myself for my sinful thoughts.

"Pence for your thoughts, gov'nah?" Grey catches me off guard in my fantasy with his English accent. He sure does like these role-playing games.

I go a deeper shade of red. I must be purple by now. _'I was just thinking about running my fingers wantonly through your wicked, incorrigible, unconditioned hair.'_ I place my hands on either side of my head and literally shake the perverse thoughts away. Grey sets a tray containing a cup and saucer, teapot, and separate plate with a single teabag on the table. I guess I must've sat down at a table at some point during the inner melee. There's a leaf design in the foam of his latte. '_How is that possible? It must be magic!'_ I make a sign to deflect the sorcery. In addition, he's got a giant blueberry muffin. A muffin! Who would have ever thought that I would be sitting in a real live coffee shop with a man who is eating a large bakery item? Thank goodness it isn't a scone. It would just be too much for me to handle. At least we have something in common: large foods! He crosses his legs, and a pair of handcuffs falls out of his pocket. He quickly snatches them up and stuffs them back in. Okay, the leg-crossing is a bit at odds with his machismo, but I'll overlook it. He's so cultured and knows how to carry himself with grace. I covet him. I'm so bumbling and klutzy. Why, I can't walk into a doorway without literally walking into the doorway.

"I already paid. Now you'll have to share your thoughts or refund my money," he explains.

"Oh, yes. I was just engrossed in deep thoughts about.._'your hair and pants'_…my tea. I'm a connoisseur of fine teas, and this Twinings brand is top of the line! I order it any time I frequent a coffee establishment such as this." He scowls. I suspect he realizes that this is the first time I've ever been in a coffee shop. To distract him, I quickly dunk my teabag into the hot water and yank it right back out again, dropping it back onto its plate. He does his signature head-to-the-side-at-an-unnatural-angle move, clearly wondering why I just did what I did.

"I like my tea weak and tasteless, like my men," I laugh hysterically at my own joke. I don't have any men! Lolz.

"Indeed. So he is your suitor?"

_'Exqueeze me? Baking powder?'_ "Huh?"

"Jose the Photographer."

I titter anxiously. Why would he think that? Could it be the constant undercurrent of unrequited lust? "You're terribly mistaken. We're just friends. Just dear old friends. Why on earth would you think such a silly thing?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess maybe it was the constant undercurrent of unrequited lust." Ding ding ding! His eyes boring into mine make me feel flustered. I want to break his gaze, but I can't.

"It's not like that. He's like a brother to me," I plead.

"Hey, you can't help how you feel about your siblings, right? Especially if they're really hot and not even actually related by blood. Am I right?" He seems completely placated by my answer as he sensuously pulls the paper liner away from his muffin. I'm enraptured and again contemplate taking notes in case I ever become brave enough to order a muffin some day.

"Want a bite?" He seems to be laughing at me as if I'm his very own private comedienne.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly." I realize I'm drooling again and check on my mangled fingers to see how they're doing.

"So back to the topic of unrequited lust, what about the guy at the store? Is he your boyfriend?"

I shudder involuntarily. "Definitely not. Remember when I introduced him as my boss' brother? Why?"

"You seem so skittish. I wondered if you had any experience or not."

Back off Jack! I'm mostly acting so jumpy because I don't want you to know I have a pants fetish!

"You're terrifying. There I said it." I'm sure I'm becoming as purple as Barney, but I'm glad I was honest with him. Although, I'm still perusing my damaged fingers instead of looking him in the eye. While I'm doing so, he gasps audibly.

"You should be terrified of me." He shakes his head in the affirmative. "I admire your bluntness, so I'll return it by putting everything on the table." He then proceeds to empty all of his pockets onto the table: rope, zip ties, duct tape, chloroform. "Now, look up so I can gauge your response."

I meet his eyes, and he gives me two thumbs up with a strange smile on his face.

"Eyes are the windows to the soul," he whispers. "But since yours are crossed, you're a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."

What the-? Two seconds ago he said I was blunt. Now I'm an enigma? And my eyes are crossed? When did that happen? "I've seriously got no game. That's got to be obvious."

"Oh I get what you're doing. You're trying to prevent me from solving your mysteries," he mutters.

_'How am I doing these things without even knowing it?' _I don't understand how this is possible. _'I can't be a mystery…unless I'm also a mystery from myself! That must be it.'_

"Of course your blushing gives you away, you know. And you do seem to blush all the time. I haven't broken the blush code yet, though." He tears a bite from his muffin and chews it seductively while keeping his eyes locked onto mine. Which of course makes me blush. _'Dang it!'_

I have to distract him from breaking the code. "Why are you getting all up in my koolaid? You ain't my daddy!"

"No, of course not. Gross! I'm twisted, but even I have to draw the line at actual father-daughter incest. You think I'm that big of a sicko?" He seems shocked.

"I guess not."

"Thank goodness."

"But you do seem to like to boss me around."

He waggles his eyebrows again and blushes a bit. Man, I hope it's not catching. "Oh, I do like to have it my way," he mutters. "Even when I'm not at Burger King."

"I can tell. You haven't even let me call you Christian instead of Mr. Grey." I'm scaring myself with my own boldness. What made me just speak my own mind like that? He clearly likes submissive young ladies who follow his commands. I'm totally blowing it. Yet, it almost seems like he's testing me to see if I'll get frightened and run away. And I'm very good at tests. Oh, I'm an excellent schoolgirl all right.

"Only those who've successfully conquered a complex series of challenges can call me by my first name. So far only my family and a few close confidants have achieved it. I'd like to keep it that way."

He's letting me know I haven't made the grade yet and still don't get to call him Christian. So that's how he wants to play it. We're back to tyrant. Kate should have gone to that interview instead of playing sick. They're so much alike: arrogant, power-hungry, domineering, and attractive. Kate's gorgeous, like all of the women he surrounds himself with at his office. She would know exactly how to handle him. Now this is beginning to get to me. I chug my tea water while he nibbles at his muffin.

"So, you didn't have brothers or sisters?"

What? Why is he changing the subject? "Nope, I'm practically alone in the world."

"I want to hear all about your family background, learn who might or might not come looking for you should you seem to suddenly drop off the face of the planet."

What the heck? Where is he going with this? "My stepdad moved to Montesano after he and my mom divorced. She lives in Georgia with her elderly sugar daddy, Bob."

"You don't have a real dad?"

"I never knew him. I was just a baby when he died."

"I apologize. That was beneath even me," he murmurs, and an alarmed expression flits across his face. Or perhaps it's the realization that there are no male family member to legally report me as a missing person.

"It's no biggie. I don't even remember him."

"So your mom remarried."

I bleat, "Oh, yeah, more than once. She's like the village bike. Everybody's had a ride."

He grimaces at my indelicacy. "You're not really giving me helpful details. Whatever info you don't provide will have to be researched by my security department, which means I'll have to use a few of my billions of bucks to find out what you could tell me for free." He starts the fingers and chin action again. Yikes.

"You haven't told me anything deep about yourself, either."

"You got an entire recorded interview. What else do you want? As I recall, you found out I'm an illegitimate homosexual." He grins smugly.

_'Oh snap.'_ That was a reference to the "Mr. Grey is gay" poem. How embarrassing. I'll either need intense journaling therapy or a pile of xanax to get rid of the anxiety over the memory of it. As a defense mechanism, I start telling him all about my mother.

"Don't pay any attention to what I said about my mom before. I love her immensely. She's the best. She's a hopeless romantic. In fact, she's such a believer in true love that she's currently on her fourth marriage."

There goes the eyebrow waggling again.

"You'd think I'd want to see her more often. Instead I've done everything I can to maintain a safe distance absolutely as far away across the US as I could be from her. But then again, she chose Bob over me when I was just a child. A man instead of her own daughter once again. At least he'll be the one whose bank account will be inexplicably depleted and who will have to take care of her when she goes from her manic phase to massive depression when her latest project fails." I smile angelically. Gosh, I wonder why I haven't visited my mom in such a long time. Christian is gazing warily at me now, as he drinks his latte. Check out that mouth. Rawr!

"What about your stepdad? You let him raise you as if he was your real dad?"

"Sure. I pretty much had to; otherwise, I would have been homeless since my mom kicked me out in order to have room in her life for total devotion to her men."

"What's his deal?"

"Ray is…well, it's hard to describe. He doesn't talk much."

"Okay-ay….." Grey seems to wish I'd give more info. He really must not want to have to log those research hours. "Doesn't talk much…like his stepdaughter I guess?"

At least this coffee date has zapped my energy to the point that even my usual nervous disorders aren't acting out. "Okay fine. Look, I don't like to tell people because of the automatic prejudice, but…he's a neanderthal. But don't judge! He likes typical manly, homo erectus stuff: cricket, bridge, bird watching, and whittling. He's a chair-maker by trade. Plus he was in the army," I exhale.

"So you were raised by a neanderthal? They let those in the army?"

"It's not like I had a choice other than the streets. My mom was looking for a third husband before she even filed for her second divorce. She felt like having a daughter living at home might put some of the eligible bachelors off."

He glowers. "You'd rather live with a neanderthal than your own mother?" he questions.

_'So not getting it.'_

"Look, she abandoned me for the luxuries of a Texas trailerpark. Plus Numero Tres didn't want a stepdaughter hanging around cramping his redneck style. So I lived with my neanderthal ex-stepdad. He never said anything to make me feel bad about it. Of course, as a neanderthal, he lacked the actual ability to say anything about it, but…" Time to turn the tables. "So what about your parents? Any cavemen in your adoptive family tree?"

He waves a hand to show it's no big deal. "Typical family. Dad's an attorney. Mom is a doctor. Tons of money. They have an estate in Seattle. Several other vacation homes around the world. I grew up in the same type of household as every other kid in America."

Wow. Sounds like he had all the privileges to help him become the successful man he is today. His adoptive parents must be glad they picked a good one to lavish all that on and not a sociopath with secret sadistic tendencies!

"What about your brother and sister? Are they successful, too?"

"My brother Elliot owns his own company, and my sister Mia is studying in Paris." I can tell that he's not comfortable with this topic. I wonder if it's about being adopted or something else.

"Gosh, I wish I could go to Paris," I whisper.

"It's incredible. Wait, you mean you've never gone to Paris?" he seems incredulous and a bit disgusted that anyone in today's world wouldn't have travelled to Europe.

"I've never even been outside of America." So much for his deep, dark family secrets. It seems like the only shocking life facts are mine.

"Where would you go if you could?"

"Paris would be wonderful, of course, but I'd rather go to England."

"And why is that?" He pulls a fast one by combining his creepy finger/chin move with his unnatural-head-to-the-side move. It's. just. too. much. I feel the earth's gravity shifting. I open and shut my eyes frantically, hoping that I'll open them to see that I've been magically transported to my safe place. No such luck. I must try to continue on.

"The authors of all of my favorite classics lived there and drew their stories from there. Shakespeare, Jane Austen, EL James."

Which reminds me that I'm still no nearer to passing my finals and getting my English degree. I check the time on my watch. I could check my cell phone instead like everyone else nowadays, but I like being eccentric. "Oh, my. Look at the time! I've got to get back and start studying."

"Your subjects for finals?"

"No, the kama sutra. Ha ha! Yes, of course, for finals. They're day after tomorrow, and I haven't even started."

"Where's the car you're driving?"

"Kate wanted to leave it sitting in the middle of the train tracks and walk across downtown, but I insisted that she park it at your hotel since that was where we needed to have the equipment."

"Okay, smarty pants, I'll take you to your car."

"No, I'm serious. She was trying to make it difficult for anyone to track us down. I appreciate the tea, Mr. Grey."

He smiles enigmatically like the cat who ate the canary. "You're quite welcome. I enjoyed it. Let's go," he puts all of his items back into his pockets, takes my hand again, and leads me out of the coffee shop like a pet on a leash. Literally. He has brought a leash and collar with him and fastens it on me.

He's silent on the way back, so of course I over-analyze it. I feel like I just bombed a job interview.

Suddenly he asks, "How do you feel about wearing jeans or other clothes? Do you feel it's absolutely necessary?" This seems out of left field.

"I prefer it most of the time."

His head bobs in affirmation of my answer. Wait. Why would he ask me such an intimate question? It has to be part of the challenge. And I've failed. How can it be? I always do well on tests! He probably likes some other woman better than me!

"You have a girlfriend, don't you?" I babble. I'm pretty sure there's no way to recover my score now.

"I actually don't want a girlfriend." Wait is that code for gay? I think so. Maybe he lied in the interview. Or is this yet another part of the challenge? My head whirls, and I step away from his entrancing hotness to clear my head. As I do, I trip and start to fall into the road. Crud, I forgot my vow to never wear these boots again. I'm so adorably clumsy. Suddenly a motorcyclist jumps the barrier that blocks off the street's construction zone like a ramp and heads right for me! How non-fortuitous!

"Oh my gosh, Ana!" Right before the rider's wheels land on me, Christian Grey yanks me back against him. Thank goodness for that leash. I'm so close now that I can tell he uses Tide laundry detergent. I love that smell! It reminds me of when my mom would lock me in the laundry room as a small child during her boyfriends' visits before I moved in with Ray, and I would cuddle up in the clean laundry basket for comfort. I take a deep breath.

"Are you hurt?" he murmurs. The sheer excitement of being so close to him has me wriggling like a poodle in the arms of it's owner. Plus his fingers tickle as he examines underneath my shirt for broken bones. Although I'm not sure why since he caught me before I even fell. I must be heavy, because he's starting to pant from the exertion as he checks my lips for broken bones with his thumb. Suddenly our eyes meet, and I want to rid myself of my kissing virginity, too.

"Kiss me you fool!" Did I really just say that out loud?


End file.
